beard tiara of feather blades

venice
is full of turkeys
each abstract
coat of arms
lives in capers piled
pulling on its sweater
moon blue sky and fore-pearl
rising through the glory tube
and these different sizes
of glass skulls make a ring
fingers esso quat'z'arts
and seal heads brazen
around the elevator
which she plays
when it arrives

quince the lips
were barely a devil
but mostly red
but still
they gnaw
persulto soma risaldare

at the soft pink
unraveling things
which collage their
torsos
with turkeys
matter is shy
to the strange and fiery
organic people